Amid the Snakes
by Just Look in the Mirror
Summary: What if Harry had shaken Draco's hand?
1. The Right Sort

A/N:

Slightly OOC Harry. No slash here and no slash in future chaps, no matter how close Harry and Malfoy seem.

Starts off with first year.

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and elements belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm just having fun with her ideas :)_

Rated T for language and some mature content. Check it out...review? and let me know what ya think.

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><p><strong>Chapter One: The Right Sort<strong>

The compact space underneath the staircase of 4 Privet Drive shook violently on the morning of June 23, awakening the boy whom lived in there rather abruptly. Harry Potter sighed angrily to himself as his obnoxious cousin, Dudley, or "Dudders" as his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon liked to call him, stomped and stomped away, his heavy weight having added on to the dramatic earthquake that was seemingly powerful enough to make the compact space's ceiling cave in.

"WAKE UP, POTTER! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" Dudley Dursley boomed as he continued to hop up and down, thick beads of sweat now gathering on his wide forehead, this having been the most exercise he'd gotten in his eleven years.

"Ugh! The hog!" the thin, nearly malnourished boy in the cupboard groaned. He restrained himself from shouting back some nasty names, for the life of him. After all, he'd been adopted with great reluctance after his parents had been killed in a car accident...and in the nine years and eleven months he'd been residing here, he'd been treated like rubbish. While precious Dudders was raised as a king, given all the toys and games he'd asked for and most definitely well-fed, Harry was assigned grueling housework at the mere age of five, while before then he had been completely ignored.

It was tragic, but what could the boy do other than bury his head under his pillow and attempt to block out the noise surrounding him? He cursed the lardy child, but chose widely not to actually wish him any bad luck, for the last time he did just the winter before, Dudley had slipped on the icy pavement by the car outside and landed sharply on his chubby left hip, just when Harry bid him such in his mind. Whether the incident was coincidental or not, Harry was still blamed, and harshly at that, not allowed dinner that night nor breakfast and lunch the following day.

Just when Potter was on the brink of passing out again even with the voluminous thrashing above him, his short door was jerked open, and in peered his strict Aunt Petunia. Harry immediately sat up in his bed as she presented him with a thin lip and crossed arms. Panic settled within.

"What do you think you're doing?! Get up and put on some bacon for your cousin, you ingrate," the lanky aunt snapped before strutting off.

Harry moaned in frustration as he got up. The day ahead was to be dreaded for sure…

.

.

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Harry had always been capable of performing strange obstacles using his thoughts alone, and there were simply too many instances to recall in that moment alone as he was berated at on the car ride home from the zoo.

He sat perplexed as his obese uncle scolded him, tomato-red in the face, his voice going hoarse from all the yelling. Over the years, Harry had taught himself not to feel helpless. It was a pointless notion, especially since he reckoned either guardian would have murdered or beaten him by now had they intended to. Because he was solely assaulted verbally, Harry really had little to actually fear, other than a deprivement of meals and a 'reward' of extra chores. His abuse had also instilled his need to fend for himself...and by the age of six, Harry had been moulded into something of a hot-tempered and perpetually upset child, compliments of his aunt and uncle and his protruding ribs and holey, oversized clothing.

"I don't know how you did it, boy, but you DID! I demand that you apologize to my son this instant!" Vernon shouted from the driver's seat.

Harry was by now becoming just as irritated as his uncle. "But I didn't do anything-"

"DON'T YOU BACK-TALK ME!" Vernon growled lowly enough to elicit goosebumps along his nephew's body, much to the nephew's disliking. "YOU TELL DUDLEY YOU'RE SORRY RIGHT NOW, LEST YOU WANT ME TO DROP YOU STRAIGHT OFF AT THE ORPHANAGE!"

Harry was fuming. Heck, he almost told his uncle to go on ahead and do just that. The orphanage must have been better than what he was suffering through on a day-to-day basis! He thought about this, and decided to keep quiet, so that perhaps the corrupt uncle would go about as he'd promised. Harry's stomach contents turned to butterflies at the prospect of being adequately fed and making friends in a new home, even if it was substandard and his chances of being adopted out before eighteen years of age were slim.

"I'M GOING TO VEER ONTO THIS UPCOMING CURB AND ONWARD FOR THE ORPHANAGE, YOU BURDEN! I KID YOU NOT!" Vernon warned loudly, as Harry suppressed a giggle of joy.

"...Okay," Harry answered happily.

"_OKAY_?!" the uncle screeched.

"I mean, sure, Uncle Vernon. You may drop me off at the orphanage if you really want to. I'd be more pleased there anyhow to be quite honest," Harry admitted. His reply has made his soaking wet cousin gasp and his aunt's face go white in shock. That was about the most audacious thing the boy had ever uttered in his life.

To Harry's surprise and disappointment, the uncle never turned, and instead, kept driving on towards Privet Drive. Harry gulped then, that rare-to-surface sense of fear having approached as he could almost literally feel the livid temper reverberate off of Vernon. His aunt and cousin seemed to receive the same gist as they were now dead silent. Dudley had even cut out his complaining.

Vernon chuckled with a demon's finesse. "When we get back home, boy, you're an inconceivable amount of trouble," he informed darkly.

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><p>Over a month later, Harry was still scrubbing the toilet bowl every single day for his required set of forty-five minutes each time, and he was still not permitted lunch nor any snacks at all, and he was still only allowed two three minutes showers weekly, until further ado.<p>

As he scoured the toilet's interior, his nostrils barely accustomed to the long-lingering pungent odor of the large uncle's recently taken deuce, Harry yearned for a better life. He instinctively loathed whomever hit and killed his parents who more than likely took at least decent care of him. Harry was just a child of almost eleven, but he had enough knowledge to understand that he deserved healthier treatment than this.

Rising after his due forty-five minutes had come to an end, he hastily flushed the cleaner down and departed the bathroom to return to his personal quarters underneath the stairs, where he was forced to wait out with nothing to do, not even authorized a bloody book to read in quiet. As he laid in his dimly lit room, he contemplated running away, but where he'd go, he just didn't know.

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.

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The strange and copious letters striking the household had Vernon aggravated beyond belief. Apparently, they'd been addressed to Harry, but that didn't denote his getting to have at one. Potter could only wonder what those envelopes contained as Vernon so ruthlessly burned some of them and shredded others.

Just the day before his birthday that was on July's final day, the Dursleys and Harry fled to an area that can be described as a shack on a small island out in the sea where they had arrived via old rowboat. Harry was taken aback as to why their boat hadn't sunk at all their combined weight, what with how fat Vernon and Dudders were...was it again Harry 'doing' something to prevent such a thing from happening? He doubted the possibility for the time being.

The rickety hut had two bedrooms, one for the aunt and uncle and the other for their tubby and spoilt son. Harry would be taking to the dusty floorboards for the night, as directed by Vernon. Shortly after midnight approached that night, Harry wished himself a happy birthday, and when a lone tear rolled down his attenuated cheek, he roughly wiped it away with his sleeve and internally rebuked himself to grow up and deal with his ridiculously upsetting living standards.

His woeful state was interrupted by thunderous footsteps that seemed to grow near the shack. Harry stood shakily as the tall, wooden front door was pounded on. He stood still in his place at each powerful blow. His 'family' was now downstairs with him. Vernon had a rifle in his meaty clutch as the door thudded to the ground at a blaring volume. In lumbered a man, or creature, who could be sure, for he was so massive in size, coming to nearly nine feet in height, not to mention he was generous in width as well.

"Sorry about that."

From those three spoken words on Harry's life would be changed for, as he'd craved, the better.

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Harry was more delighted than flabbergasted to hear that he was a wizard. His hatred for Vernon and Petunia tripled when the giant told him how parents really died. Those deceitful morons! This 'Dark Lord' bloke had piqued Harry's interest by the lot, enough so to make him swear awful vengeance on this murderer when he'd one day seek him out—and he would seek him out, he promised himself.

Harry listened intently as this turned-out 'half-giant' yakked on about the Wizarding World. He took in his surroundings of this weird albeit whimsical town, 'Diagon Alley'. This all seemed a wild dream, the existence of magic, witches and wizards; it was almost too much for the birthday boy to grasp fully.

Crazy as it all was, he came to love it. He laughed when this Rubeus Hagrid fellow gave his greedy cousin a pig's tail when he dug into his cake, and warm feelings had tickled his fancy when this ogrely man bent his uncle's rifle up in half.

Hagrid took him into a shop called Eeylops Owl Emporium to survey what owls they had so that he could purchase one he'd like to bring along to Hogwarts with him. Harry wandered the place and found a female snow white owl towards the back of the shop. He stuck his finger through the metal barring that separated the two of them—to have his right index finger chomped into with incisive force.

"Youch!" he hissed, glaring daggers at the guileful bird. "Not too nice, are we?" he asked her. She gave a guiltless chirp in response, a splotch of his blood on her beak and her big yellow eyes looking blank and coy. Harry chuckled. "Naughty...perhaps I could put you to some good use...sick you on my oaf of an uncle." Harry picked up her cage and walked her down to where Hagrid was eyeing a slender gray owl.

"Found yer bird?" asked the half-giant.

"Yup," Harry replied, already scheming his plans to train this not-so-innocent birdie to attack his lousy guardians, his lousy uncle in particular. "I like her a lot."

"That's wonderful, Harry," Hagrid beamed as they made their way over to the counter to pay for her. "She is a pretter' little one."

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While Hagrid was out picking up something from the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was fitted for his robes in Madam Malkin's. As he was being measured, a blond boy of around the same age was stood on a stool next to him. One could say no awkward silence was exchanged between the two, because the pale blond was quick to speak.

"Hogwarts too?" the blond with a pointed face asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered.

"Father's next door buying me books and my mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own...I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry nodded. "Whatever floats your boat, I guess," he said, shrugging.

"Have you got your own broom?" the blond asked.

"Yes, I do, actually," he replied, subtly referring to the broom in the downstairs closet—the very one he'd been obligated to use most days to 'clean house' from the age of four.

An expression of jealousy crossed the blond. "Do you? How long have you been riding?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Well, I was fairly young when I started...wow, I guess my guardians started me off about seven years ago."

The other boy gaped. "Lucky bloke...Ever play Quidditch?"

"No, but I just might," Harry said smiling. He was without a clue as to what the hell that could even be.

"I will. Father says it'll be a crime if I'm not selected to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?"

_'House?'_ Harry thought with a raised eyebrow. Hagrid had perhaps mentioned it earlier, but he had talked so much that Harry missed some of what he said. "Er, not yet."

"No one really knows till they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all of our family have been. Imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

The name did sound girlish and kind of silly to Harry, so he supposed he would not want to be in that House. "Probably."

"Blimey! Look at that beast over there!" the blond gasped, pointing to Harry's humongous tour guide who stood outside the window holding two ice creams.

"Oh, that's Hagrid. He works at Hogwarts," Harry informed offhandedly.

"I've heard of him. He's sort of a servant, isn't he?"

Harry shook his head. Being a servant himself he knew just as strenuous such a duty could be. "He's the gamekeeper, actually."

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's sort of savage. Lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk...tries to do magic to end up setting his mattress aflame."

Harry frowned. "And he probably poops in pots and pisses in mugs," Harry surmised. "But hey, who are we to judge him?"

This had the blond snickering. "So, he's with you, yeah? Where are your parents?"

Harry's frown intensified some. "They were murdered when I was an infant," he sighed.

The blond's features softened in forced sympathy. "Oh...sorry. They were our kind, right?" he asked with a stern and churlish tone, angering Harry some.

"They were witch and wizard, if that's what you're getting at," he answered.

"They should not even let the other sort in in my opinion. They're just not the same...They've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get their acceptance letter." He tsked. "They should really keep it in the old Wizarding families. What's your name, anyway?"

Before Harry could respond, the stout owner told him he was set to go. He hopped down from his stool and waved the blond goodbye.

_'He was yammering as if we're best mates...'_ Harry mused. He found this boy to be a bit arrogant and annoying, yes, but all his life Harry had never had a best friend, save for a few acquaintances here and there throughout grade school. Meeting Hagrid outdoors, he took his ice cream and nibbled away at it, really savoring the treat since he'd enjoyed so few of them in his life, while they finished getting what supplies Harry would be needing.

* * *

><p>Harry would have gladly gone to hell before back to the Dursleys, but it was only for another month—and then the relief was to hit him, the relief and joy he'd so earned all these years.<p>

As Harry had anticipated, the uncle threw a hot raging fit when he saw that ruddy bird for the first time, so Harry had to assure him that he'd keep the owl in his cupboard at all times.

One day in the middle of August, Dudley had intruded Harry's cupboard space, wanting to get a closer look at that attractive bird. Harry was scrubbing through a load of dishes when he heard a high-pitched shriek ensue from his space. Subsequently, his cousin came barreling into the kitchen, wagging his pink, swelling index finger in his mother's face.

"Stupid owl bit my finger, mum! Tried to pet him and he - he bit me!" he cried as Petunia went pale.

"_She_," Harry nonchalantly corrected from the sink. "She doesn't much like strangers. Took her over a week to stop nipping at me, you know," he added.

"She's not tame then! We need to have it put to sleep!" Dudley hollered, frightening the living daylights of out Harry for the first time ever.

Trying to remain calm, Harry argued, "No, Dudley. I don't think she deserves to die. She didn't mean to hurt you. She's just acting out on instinct. You made her feel threatened."

"Silence," Aunt Petunia muttered at her nephew coldly. She consoled her duddykins and led him out of the kitchen for the bathroom to bandage his poor plump finger up.

Harry shook his head. _'Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Hogwarts. Just another sixteen days and I'm free of this nonsense for a while.'_

.

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.

The guardians were terse in dropping their nephew off at King's Cross Station. Vernon didn't grumble a goodbye, but rather, a "Good riddance." Petunia didn't plant a goodbye peck on his cheek, and Dudders insulted the stupid, evil bird once more before Harry was gone, out of their hairs.

_'May the lot of them find considerable trouble in paradise,'_ Harry thought, hoping he would be able to train his owl, whom he had yet to give a worthy name, to drop white bombs on their house. Wanting to ponder no more of them, he focused on getting to Platform '9 and ¾' though he'd never heard of such an area. The 'three quarters' was really throwing him off, and when he hesitantly asked his uncle if he knew what that meant he was gifted a hearty scowl.

He spent nearly ten minutes searching for the area specified on his ticket. When he resorted to asking a guard where it was, he was replied to in a manner similar to Vernon's. Fortunately, he spotted a band of ginger-haired people in between platforms nine and ten. Harry smiled when he watched two tall twins disappear through a brick wall.

He pushed his cart up toward the family.

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.

.

Through the wall and into the Hogwarts' Express, a ginger boy Harry's age named Ronald Weasley boasted his ear off, though was evidently not nearly as irksome as that blond boy. The boys picked out an empty compartment to sit down in. Ron told Harry just about all he'd need to know about the sport, Quidditch, though Harry was sure he'd had it with broomsticks for a while, no matter the potential fun flying one could have been.

Ron was stunned to discover he was in the vicinity of Harry Potter. Harry blushed slightly as Ron giddily made a show of himself on how popular he, The Boy who freaking Lived! was among their world.

Harry respected this fellow, and eventually found comfort in his yakking. At one point, likely over an hour after the train had taken off, a bushy-haired brunette girl slid open their compartment's door to ask them if they had seen some toad named Trevor. They hadn't, so the girl left them be.

The two snacked away what oodles of candy they'd bought with Harry's great deal of money. Ron told Harry about the four Houses and what they represented. Ron's own kin had been sorted into Gryffindor, so he in turn was aspiring for such.

"I don't think I'll care what House I'm in...except for that one that sounds goofy...erm, oh, Hufflepuff," Harry said. "But then again, I guess they all sound unique."

"They're all the surnames of the grounds' founders," Ron explained. "I happen to know plenty of people with odd last names though."

Then, that blond boy from Madam Malkin's along with two beefy boys stepped in without first asking. The three of them faced Harry from where he sat, all grinning smugly at him. The blond broke the silence.

"So it's true then? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment," the blond announced, confidently brushing some of Harry's straggly hair out of the way to reveal his lightning-shaped scar. The blond's mien was glowing now. "It _is_ true…"

"...Uh, yes," Harry mumbled awkwardly, regretfully intimidated by the two boys large enough to resemble bodyguards. One was even heavier than Dudley...

"This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," he said, patting either boys' shoulder. "And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a half-suppressed snigger, rousing irritation on Malfoy's part. Turning his attention the other way to glare down at Ron, he sneered, "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask yours. Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe...you must be a Weasley."

Ron faltered, appearing disappointed, while Harry had to give Malfoy, rude as he was, some credit on those astute observational skills…

"You'll soon find that some Wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort," Malfoy said, glancing fleetingly at Ron in referral to his statement.

Harry was offered his hand.

"_I_ can help you there," Malfoy finished.

Harry shot Ron a glimpse, absorbing his new companion's saddened look. He then gazed back up at Malfoy. Harry admired Ron, he really did, but he wanted to open himself up to anyone who wanted his friendship. The flattery he felt...the desire to have actually have mates...it was too much to possibly decline.

Harry took his hand, and he shook it.


	2. The House of Slytherin

**Chapter Two: The House of Slytherin**

Draco smiled broadly. "Why don't you follow us back to our compartment down there." He glowered at Ron. "Leave the weasel here by himself."

Crabbe and Goyle snickered at their leader's snarky comment while Draco led them out of the compartment. Harry cringed not when Goyle snatched most of Ron's leftover treats and stuffed them into his pockets but when Crabbe spat an enormous loogie at Ron's cheek. The amount of empathy Harry held for the ginger was of more quantity than the yellowish spittle that oozed down the ginger's cheek, onto his shirt.

Harry followed behind either bully, whispering, "See you, Ron," on his way out. As bad as he felt inside, he knew there was no going back now. Harry planned to confront Ron again at a later time to apologize and ask to pursue a friendship with him, though he was iffy as to whether or not he would be so forgiving, heck, after what Crabbe had done to him…

"Malfoy's bleeding rich, more so than you, myself and Goyle combined," Crabbe told Harry in a husky drawl.

"I presumed as much," Harry replied with a grimace. Crabbe's breath had smelt strongly of what Harry could only discern to be stale eggs, garlic, and what may or may not have been rum.

"What were ya doin' in there with the blood traitor, Potter?" Goyle asked Harry from over his shoulder as the four of them proceeded down the aisle.

'_Blood traitor?'_ Harry mused, oblivious to what he meant by that.

"Quiet, Goyle," said Draco. "Ginger freak was probably trying to brainwash him...It's a bloody good thing we came along in time, isn't that right, Potter?"

"Erm...yes," Harry gave, though he was not being entirely truthful, for he still did respect this 'blood traitor.'

At the very end of the train, the boys stopped and slipped into a vacant compartment. Draco sat across from Crabbe and Goyle, and when Harry intended to take his seat next to Draco, Draco stretched his legs out over the majority of the seat, landing Harry his seat squeezed next to his new bulky friend, Crabbe.

"So what's it like, Potter? Being what society deems you, you know, the Chosen One?" Draco casually asked Harry once he made himself comfortable in his lazy position.

Harry's stomach flopped in uncertainty. "Um...well, i-it's er, cool...yeah, it's a nice feeling."

"I'd wager," Draco replied, looking out the window. "Basking in all that glory...What a life, to be famous and known among millions...That _would_ be bloody cool."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded in agreement while Harry sat in abashed flattery. For the first time in his life people were paying him attention and actually willingly speaking to him. They were a cold to the core bunch, yes, but this was splendid on some level...

"Father's a Governor for Hogwart's Educational system, Potter. He has free reign over some things...you ever get into some trouble or need a certain something...father can assist," Draco offered. "Of course you two already understand this applies for both your arses as well?"

Crabbe and Goyle nodded, reminding Harry of two henchman who shared a brain. They were so alike...

"Who raised you, Potter? Not that savagely oaf Haggar or whatever his name is, right?" Draco asked with a hint of disgust toward the end there.

"Oh, no, I was brought up by my aunt and uncle," he replied.

"Are they like _us_?" Draco pressed on with notable suspicion.

"...No," Harry answered with awkward honesty. With the flustered expression Draco returned, he chose to further elucidate himself. "They are both positively awful, I'll have you all know. My Uncle Vernon is a great obese git who works for a drill company. Don't bother even asking what that is; it's like a tool company, and they cheat people out of their money. He's forty-seven, roughly three hundred and fifty pounds, more or less, is always purple in the face and he devours bacon and brandy like his life depends on it. Oh, and he along with my dreadful aunt kept me locked away in the cupboard underneath our stairs since I can remember."

He paused to study their befuddled miens and listened to Goyle's enthusiastic exclamation of "Damn!" before carrying on.

"Don't even get me started on my blasted Aunt Petunia...For starters, her physical appearance opposes Vernon's altogether. She is quite slim and bony and she's pretty tall, like 5'9 or so. She bitter and has only gifted me used extra large socks and underwear over the holidays, while my cousin, Dudley, averages nearly forty gifts on his every birthday and Christmas. Dudley is rotund himself, and I bet he'll be even larger than my uncle by the time he is his age, if he _even_ makes it to his age. Frankly, I'm surprised Vernon hasn't contracted heart disease or chronic diabetes yet at his size...If you all would see him...phew, he would squash a mallet flat if he sat on one."

The three listeners snickered, brightening up Harry's mood and ego. It felt incredible to finally speak of his joke of a family in such a jeering fashion. After all this time, he no longer had to keep these pent-up frustrations to himself. Lord! He could freely boast!

"Those inbred bastards...pure filth, the lot of them," Draco declared, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Had I been taken under such brutal wing I'd have probably killed myself years ago...You've got some great nerve, Potter."

Harry blushed. "Yeah, I do."

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Harry could see the monstrous gamekeeper from his stance at the end of the crowd of first years. He thought briefly to smile and wave at him, but wisely went against it with these guys around him...They may have disowned him for such a gesture for such an 'oaf.' He was glad that Hagrid failed to spot him.

"FORST YERS, FOLLER ME! THIS WAY TO THE BOATS!"

"Forst yers? Foller? This dufus hasn't even mastered the English tongue, has he?" Draco scoffed, rousing giggles from Crabbe and Goyle while Harry kept silent.

Apprehension just about ate Harry whole when they arrived to the docks, the same apprehension he suffered when he got into that beaten old rowboat before he and the Dursleys sailed out to sea. Draco settled into the small boat first, taking his seat in the front thwart, Goyle to follow, then Crabbe. Harry shivered and felt lightheaded at seeing the boat sink slightly and tilt back and forth as the two heavy kids adjusted themselves to their preference in the middle thwart. Harry kept his fingers crossed that his weight in the back thwart would even the total weight out so that the boat wouldn't flip over or drown. He knew he might have been overly heedful about this, but heightened caution had been long instilled in him thanks to his guardians, curse them to the pits of hell.

Steadily, he stepped down and took his place, the boat hardly moving a fraction of an inch as he did so with his measly seventy-eight pounds. Automatically, the boat took off down the water. This experience on water overruled the last by a tremendous extent, especially when they rounded the turn revealing the lit up castle. Harry gasped in awe along with Crabbe and Goyle at the magnificent sight before them. Harry had never even seen pictures of anything so gorgeous. He fawned at the fact that he'd be taking to what vast halls, classrooms and miscellaneous areas this property had to provide.

Brilliant orange light shone through the many windows and sizable boulders surrounded the structure just beautifully in Harry's eyes. Towers were mounted to the sky all around, thoroughly exciting the boy with hopes that he would be able to venture this school's entirety.

"This is glorious!" Harry said, happily breaking the silence. The boys in front of him nodded as usual. Harry was beginning to consider them mostly mute.

Once they were inside the school, Harry about stumbled over his own feet, his wide eyes glued every which way, whether at the peaking ceiling or the wall-aligned statues and pillars. He laughed internally, remembering that Dudders was attending boring and plain Smeltings...oh, if he could only see this gem. The envy would probably stop his heart.

Up several broad, stone flights, a sternly faced, elderly witch awaited them, her lithe fingers thrumming the railing aside. Looking up at her to see just how serious her expression was, Harry cowered a bit and drew his gaze to his feet. He'd gotten the gist she was strict before she even spoke.

"Welcome to Hogwarts! Now, in a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates, but before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your Houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

Draco budged Harry and Goyle's arms, smiling and nodding after that last word.

"Now while you're here, your House will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points, and any rule breaking will decrease points from your assigned House. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup-"

"TREVOR!" a round-faced brunet boy suddenly broke in, rushing forward to seize his lost toad from the top step. The professor gave him an impatient look until he rose and mumbled an awkward "sorry."

"The sorting ceremony will begin momentarily…" she finished curtly before turning from them to disappear into the door ahead.

"Alright, chances are, all four of us are going to be sorted into Slytherin," Draco said to his three mates. "Assuming she calls us by our surnames alphabetically, Crabbe will be first. Crabbe, once you're seated, be sure to leave room for Goyle, then myself, then Potter, got it? Anybody else tries to sit by you, you shoo them away."

Crabbe gave his common nod in fathom.

"But, what if we're not all in Slytherin?" Harry asked.

Draco shot him a glare. "We all _should _be. Whomever's not shall not be a part of the quad. It shall be a shame for them."

"Yeah, Slyths rule out all the other lame Houses," Goyle threw in, getting Draco and Crabbe to nod fervently just as the old witch returned.

"We're ready for you now. Follow me," she announced, taking the lead for the high doors.

While all the other students walked down the Great Hall awestruck and mystified, Harry fixated over Draco's words. It was Harry's prime goal to not make any enemies while here at this phenomenal school of witchcraft and wizardry.

'_What if I'm in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor? Will Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle truly shun me out?' _

He was pulled from his thoughts when he caught Hagrid waving amiably at him from his seat at the far left end of the staff's table. He gave a curt wave back while his mates weren't paying him any attention.

"When I call your name, you will come forth, I shall place the Sorting Hat upon your head and you will be sorted into your House." She held up a scroll, announcing the first name, and then going down the list, one student after the last.

As Draco had promised, Crabbe and Goyle had indeed landed themselves in Slytherin. The Hat hadn't spent a great deal of time on either of their heads either, and when Draco was called up, the Hat hadn't even _touched_ his head before he was tossed into that very House. Harry perspired profusely, fretting over his upcoming result.

"Harry Potter!"

'_Hell,'_ his mind hissed as he nervously approached the stool. Not a sound echoed through the entire hall with Harry, for everyone, staff and students alike, had anticipated his placement.

"Mm...difficult, _very _difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either...There's talent, and a first to prove yourself...but where to put you?..." the Hat drawled.

Harry glanced over toward the Slytherin table to see an open space aside Draco, just as planned. He knew he HAD to wind up in that seat!

'_Slytherin! Please, I'd like to be in Slytherin!' _he thought clearly, and the Hat did hear him.

"Slytherin? Ah, yes, you could be great in that particular House...I seek much success of you and it will help you on the way to greatness! Yes...okay, SLYTHERIN!"

His designated table exploded into applause while the rest of the room was cricket silent, apparently appalled at his outcome. However, Harry sighed in relief and skipped over to his table to proudly take his seat beside Draco. Draco patted his shoulder, giving his congratulations.

…

Bile rose in Harry's gullet at seeing how much food Crabbe and Goyle could put away. Funnily, pigging out at his first great feast had been on his mind since the night Hagrid gave him the outrageous news, but he fast lost his appetite about when globs of gravy dribbled off of Crabbe's chubby second chin. Harry's nibbled drumstick stayed on his dinner plate for the remainder of supper.

Draco jabbed his side just minutes before bedtime. "Ya see, Potter? I knew we'd all make it in," he said assuringly.

Harry grinned and nodded. "Yeah, you were right," Harry confessed.

At that moment, a roaring belch erupted all conversation in the proximity temporarily. Draco and Harry glowered over at their pal, Crabbe, who continued to stuff his face with blueberry scones. They shook their heads in disbelief.

"Fat arse…" Draco mumbled.

Harry peered over at the Gryffindor table, recalling that Ron had been sorted into that House. Ron's back was turned to him and he appeared to be speaking to an older student next to him, another redhead. He huffed to himself, hoping that Ron didn't endure too much trauma from that hot saliva assault his left cheek had succumb to.

Simultaneously, Harry had to plot just how and when he was going to re-confront him and try to maintain of friendship of sorts. He valued Ron's kindness, even if he was a 'blood traitor' or a 'brainwasher'. He also wanted to branch out and make as many friends as he could, from any House. He varied from his three current mates in this aspect. He didn't judge others for their differences or irksome traits. He didn't pity them either. He accepted them for whom they were.

…

"Salazar," said the Slytherin prefect before a extensive rock wall in the dungeon. The children took in breaths of bewilderment as the wall separated in a rather captivating manner, providing plentiful leeway for them to walk into their common room.

Their common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling, from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them.

While most of the first years around him wore pleased expressions at their domain, Harry thought the place a tad too gloomy and eerie. In fact, he found all of the dungeon to be too dark, spooky and uncanny. The cold ambiance made him feel uneasy…

"We're home, gentlemen," Draco sighed delightfully, again taking the lead down the cemented steps that led further into the room.

'_He is kind of right about that,' _Harry decided. '_This place, chilly and creepy as it is, is still pure heaven compared to the hell-hold back on Privet Drive...'_

The Slyths moseyed about the whole of their private quarters until Draco suggested that they retire to their dormitory. Down a hallway at the end of the common room beheld their dorm. They would be sharing their bedroom with fellow first year, Blaise Zabini. Inside, there were five ancient four-posters with green and silk hangings and bedspreads embroidered with silver thread. Medieval tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Slytherins hung from the walls. Their sole light source came from silver lanterns hung from the ceiling.

Though Harry wasn't loving all the green and silver, he had to relish in the actuality that he'd be granted more sleeping space than ever before, and he even speculated that the mattress would be of much more comfort than his one at home.

Taking in the sight had Harry in a euphoric daze of sorts. He felt that his long-suffering had finally ceased and he was yielded his innermost wishes, the very ones he had come to believe he would never achieve. He was so mesmerized by his surroundings that he missed Draco's question.

"Cat got your tongue, Potter?" the blond asked in a rude tone.

"U-um, I beg your pardon?" Harry stammered.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Which bed do you want? Blaise's is over there so that one's off limits. You can have that one there or-"

"I CALL DIBS ON THE END ONE!" Crabbe howled, trotting over to said bed and leaping onto it—a sickening creak to follow.

"Heyyyyy, I want that one, Vince!" Goyle complained, heading over to the very bed Crabbe was wriggling on like a hyper fish.

"Cretins…" Draco scoffed, wheeling his luggage over to a bed in the middle when Harry was too slow to speak up on which bed he'd like, though he didn't exactly mind what bed he'd end up with anyhow. Chuckling at the childish quarrel between Goyle and Crabbe two beds away, Harry plopped down and relaxed, sprawling out over the expanse of his bed and eyeing the deep green canopy above and around him. This was exquisite.

As Crabbe and Goyle's argument turned physical, a tall African American boy came into the dorm, a book in his hand and a quizzical look on his face at noticing the skirmish at the bed in the dorm's end corner.

"Quit your blasted fighting, you buffoons!" Draco ordered, losing his patience. He retrieved a galleon from his robe's pocket and tossed it toward them. "Flip that. Heads, Crabbe gets it, tails, Goyle does, alright?" When they gave their customary nod, Draco turned his attention to the boy who'd just entered. "Zabini," he greeted, taking a stand, "I'd like you to meet-"

"Harry Potter," Blaise finished for him, looking at the thin boy with glasses, his mien quite stoic and detached.

Harry rose and walked up to meet him, holding out his right hand. "Hi. Blaise, right?" he asked.

The much taller boy nodded, placing his own hand into Harry's. Harry grinned sweetly at him, again eager to make yet another new mate, however, Blaise didn't reciprocate the expression, let alone the notion. He gave off an indifferent vibe, to Harry anyway.

The handshake itself was frigid, stiff and cut to the chase. It seemed too, he wasn't sure, professional, maybe, like it was obligatory and forced. Oddly, as was his handshake with Malfoy...This friendship was blossomed on a pact, it felt.

Yet, Harry disregarded this inkling and harshly reminded himself to be grateful for his new buddies. He had his opportunity, and he didn't miss it. Perhaps building on faith and companionship would be a process, but Harry wouldn't complain.

Down the road slithered adventurous experiences. Harry couldn't wait.

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a/n: Thanks to those who followed/faved. Thank you _m. _ for reviewing. Longer chapters to come. Express your thoughts. Let me know what ya think :)


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